ve her, very much."

"But suppose she does not love you?" demanded Mrs. Daniver. "I'll say
frankly, I've advised her against you all along. She ought to marry a
man of some station in the world."

"With money?"

"You put it baldly, but--yes."

"Would that be enough--money?" I asked.

"No. That is not fair----"

"--Only honor between us now."

"It would go for to-day. Because, after all, money means power, and
all of us worship power, you know--success."

"And is that success--to have money, and then more money--and to go
on, piling up more money--to have more summer places, and more yachts
like this, and more city houses, and more money, money, money--yes,
yes, that's American, but is it all, is it right, is it the real
ambition for a man! And does that bring a woman happiness?"

"What would you do if you had your money back?" asked Mrs. Daniver.
"You had a fortune from your father."

"What would I do?" I rejoined hotly. "What I did do--settle every
claim against his honor as much as against his estate--judge his honor
by my own standards, and not his. Pay my debts--pay all my debts. It's
independence, madam, and not money that I want. It's freedom, Mrs.
Daniver, that I want, and not money. So far as it would be the usual
money, buying almost nothing that is worth owning, I give you my
solemn oath I don't care enough for it to work for it! So far as it
would help me be a man, help me to build my own character, help me
build manhood and character in my country--yes, I'd like it for that.
But if money were the price of Helena herself, I'd not ask for it.
The man who would court a girl with his money and not his manhood--the
woman who marries for money, or the man who does--what use has God
Almighty got for either of them? It's men and women and things worth
doing who make this world, Mrs. Daniver. I love her, so much, so
clearly, so wholly, that I think it must be right. And since you've
asked me, I've taken my man's chance, just to get you two alone, where
I could talk it over with you both."

"It's been talked over, Harry," said she, rather uncomfortably. "Why
not let the poor child alone? Has it occurred to you how terribly hard
this is for her?"

"Yes. But she can end it easily. Tell me, is she engaged to Davidson?"

"What difference?"

"None."

"Why ask, then?"

"Tell me!"

"Well then, no, not so far as I know."

"You are sorry?"

"I had hope for it. It was all coming on so handsomely. At N